Wizard's Key
by SweetNyx
Summary: Alfred F. Jones was trying to figure out who he was, for something always felt a bit off. Does the sender of a mysterious letter inviting him to England hold the key to him learning the truth of who he really is? USUK
1. Prologue

**So here we go. Another USUK fan fic. Hope that you enjoy.**

**_Hetalia_ (C) Hidekaz Himaruya**

...

He was dying and every fiber of his being was reacting in utter protest against this barbaic execution. His spine cried out in pain, aching from being pressed directly against a rough wooden pole. Splinters of the pole dug into his back, creating tiny, but prominent wounds. The rope that had secured him to the pole bit into the tender flesh of his wrists, ankles, and chest. Leather straps secured a gag in his mouth, preventing him from being able to speak and curse at the idiots who had arranged his premature death. He bit at the gag in an attempt to get the blasted thing out of his mouth to no avail.

He watched the men before him with cold emerald eyes. Logs of various sizes and twigs were piled at his feet, ensuring that the fire would burn easily and smoothly. When the last piece of lumber was finished being added to the pile, the execution was deemed ready to begin.

The executioner, who was the leader of this party of magic hunters, stepped forward before the victim. He made a disappointed sigh at the guilty person, peering up at him from beneath a black hood. The executioner held before him a piece of parchment that contained the charges of the accused.

"Arthur Kirkland," he read aloud in a grim tone. "Tonight ye shall receive judgment for thy crimes. The crimes of the accused are as follows- engaging in witchcraft and for corrupting an innocent soul by teaching and blinding him with your enchantments. For these crimes, thou shall be burned at the stake until dead. May the Lord have mercy on your soul and perhaps bring your soul back to where it belongs instead of being in possession of the Devil."

The wizard could do nothing. It was futile. They had caught him. This was the end.

"I would have given thee the common courtesy of allowing thee to share with us your final words, however due your behavior thou cannot be trusted. So, I shall give thee a moment to pray to the Lord," the executioner allowed.

Kirkland knew the situation that he was in and he knew that he could do nothing about it. His spells could do nothing to help him now. He did not pray. How could he when his mind was far away from prayer?

He closed his eyes, only seeing before him the image of his beloved, smiling at him like always.

"_Arthur..._" he heard the boy's voice call to him gently.

The moment passed quickly, much too quickly for Arthur's taste.

"Very well. I hope that you have made peace," the executioner told him, ending the moment. "Now then, gentlemen, add that _one_to the pile and then we may continue."

"Aye, sir," the men answered their leader.

A pair of strong men disappeared away from the stake, only to come back several minutes later, dragging with them the body of young man.

The young man looked to have been about nineteen years old, a fresh blood who had been killed in his attempt to protect the victim at the stake. The body was mangled and dirtied. Bruises on the body had not been given the chance to heal while the boy was still alive.

Despite the horrid condition that the corpse was in, the wizard was able to tell whom the body had belonged to. The cowlick that the boy had affetionally called his Nantucket gave it away. The wizard bit down on his gag in horror and disgust.

The two men flung the corpse at Arthur's feet.

"Alfred F. Jones, the innocent victim whom thou brainwashed to do thy bidding," the leader announced, indicating the stiff. "Now he too must burn."

"_Alfred!_" Arthur thought to himself. Tears welled in his eyes, falling down his cheeks in waterfalls. "_I'm so sorry, my love!_"

It only took a small spark before the wood caught on fire. The crimson flames immediately began to engulf their bodies, burning their exposed flesh.

"May thou burn for thy sins, the wizard and his accomplice," the executioner proclaimed.

The wizard kept his gaze on the boy's body, watching the fire eat it away, his own body burning along with Alfred's. In the distance, he could hear the American's voice speaking kind words to him.

"_I love you, Arthur. I always have and I always will. May we never part. Let us meet in the next life._"

The flames continued to burn, stark against the bitter night's sky.

...

**To be continued...**

**Please review if you want more! ^-^**


	2. Chapter 1

_The scent of roses and fresh rain held in the air, enveloping the field in a sweet perfume. With his back to the grass he gazed at the white puffs of clouds roll by in the sky, feigning a look of contemplating thought. Everything was as it should be and he felt an overwhelming sense of peace and security._

_ A soft, warm hand gently began to stroke his face, breaking him from his meditative activity. He looked up to see a blurred figure with two hazy green orbs, like shining emeralds, gazing down at him. He could make out two black fuzzy features above the green orbs, believing them to perhaps be some form of eyebrow. The boy squinted in a failed attempt to make out the details of the person better, finding it odd that the figure was the only thing that was hazy._

_ He felt a voice in his throat and was about to speak, when his body suddenly felt like it was being burned. He opened his eyes back up and bolted up in alarm. All around him the field was on fire, burning his own flesh and the blurry figure along with it. He let out a blood shattering scream, finding himself unable to move or do anything to get out of the cruel fire._

…

The buzzing sound echoed throughout the bedroom. A hand reached out and felt around the bedside table for the annoying alarm clock. Instead of reaching the alarm clock right away, coins and a watch were accidentally pushed off of the table. At last the hand finally touched a familiar rectangle shape and hit it, shutting the alarm off.

The hand retreated back to the body that it was attached to, that was currently lying huddled beneath the covers of king sized bed.

Azure eyes opened up, taking in a slightly blurred vision of the world around him. The American yawned loudly, grouchy from his dream and that he had to get up so early.

The dream. It was something that he constantly had, repeating over and over again. Every time he had it he had tried to see the figure clearly to no avail. He had no idea what the dream meant or anything, yet it felt so real somehow, more real than the life he was actual living.

Alfred grabbed at the glasses on the bedside table and put them on before crawling out of bed. Like a zombie, he walked out of his room into the small kitchenette of the apartment that he shared with his twin, Matthew Williams, ready to repeat the same thing that he did every day, the same mundane activities that comprised his life.

Seated at the small table in the kitchenette was his twin, a plate of mostly eaten crepes before him. Matthew was finishing up his breakfast when he saw his half asleep brother walk into the room.

"Morning, sunshine," the Canadian greeted him teasingly.

Alfred responded with a tired groan. Matthew watched his brother make his way over to the coffee machine. This was the usual morning routine of Alfred. If the boy did not have his morning cup of coffee, it was the end of the world.

He sighed, pouring the hot beverage into the same mug that he always used, a simple cup that was white with the word "hero" painted on the front in red lettering.

Matthew stood up from his breakfast, done with the meal. He put his dishes in the dishwasher.

"You had better hurry or you'll be late," Matthew warned. "Again."

His addition to the last part was warranted because the boy was known to be late to his job occasionally. At the mention of this, the self-proclaimed hero splattered some of his coffee on to his hands.

"Ow!" he cried.

He put the coffee mug down on the table before running over to the sink to wash the liquid off of his hand.

"I won't be late," he told his brother as he washed his hand.

"Okay. Just be sure to lock the door before you go," Matthew reminded him. "Oh and could you pick up some eggs on the way home? We're all out."

"Yeah, sure," was the older twin's trite reply.

"Thanks."

With that Matthew left their apartment, setting off for work. Alfred finished washing his hand and went back to his coffee, drinking his source of energy for the day. Before he knew it, he saw that he was several minutes behind and would be late, just like his brother had warned. Quickly he jammed the now empty coffee mug into the dishwasher and ran back into his room to prepare for work.

…

Work was boring and uneventful. It was the same as usual. Still, he knew that he should be happy. He was Alfred F. Jones, a boy at the prime of his life with the perfect life. He had a brother who helped to take care of him, a good paying job, and the most up to date electronics. So why did it all somehow feel to him like one big lie?

"I'm home," he mumbled as opened up the door to his apartment.

There seated on the couch in the living room area of the apartment was Matthew cuddling with his boyfriend, the very French Francis Bonnefoy.

"Oh, welcome home," Matthew greeted.

"Indeed, mon ami, welcome back," Francis replied.

"I see that you're here, Francis," Alfred said. "Will you be staying for dinner?"

"No. As much I would love to savor the lovely cooking of Matthieu again, we will be going out to dinner soon. Although, would you like for me to whip you up a little something?" Francis asked, winking at Alfred.

Alfred cringed, wondering how on earth his brother could stand to be around Francis, much less date him.

"No thanks. I'm good," he replied. "I'll go put these eggs in the fridge and figure something out."

He left them alone, heading into the kitchenette.

"Oh, Alfred. There was some mail for you. I left it on table," the Canadian called to his brother from the living room.

"Okay. Thanks."

The young man put away the eggs that he had gotten at the store into the refrigerator. He then went into his room and took off his work clothes, changing into some sweats, feeling much more comfortable in those clothes then his stuffy suits that he had to wear for work.

He went back into the kitchenette and went into the refrigerator and pulled out a can of cola to drink. He heard his brother and Francis get up from the couch and put their coats on.

"Bye, Alfred," Matthew said. "I'll be back late. I have a key."

"Kay. See you."

He heard the door close and he was left to himself. Alfred cracked opened the can of cola and began to drink, enjoying the taste of the soda. As he drank, he went over to the table and began to sort through the mail that was for him. Most of it was rubbish, but then he spotted an unusual note.

He pulled the odd note from the pile. Unlike other pieces of mail that he was accustomed to seeing, the envelope was not typed or addressed to him by any machine. Instead it was handwritten in fine, beautiful calligraphy. The envelope was yellowed, looking as if had come from a time in the past. It was strange that despite the fancy penmanship, the boy found himself able to read the writing quite easily.

He turned the envelope around to the back. There pressed into the back was a red wax seal. The seal was meant to be shaped like a unicorn. He touched the seal gently. It was strange because he could have sworn that he had seen that seal before somewhere. But where?

Carefully, Alfred broke that seal, opening up the envelope. Inside was a note written in the same fancy handwritten. The material of the letter was clearly from older times for it was parchment. There on the parchment was scrawled out a invitation.

_Dear Mr. Jones,_

_ I hope that this finds you in good health. It has certainly taken me a long time to find you. I request your assistance with a certain job at your nearest convenience. You will be required to come out to my home in England in order to complete this job, for it is something that only you can do in person. Please consider my request. If you do decide to come, of which I do hope, you will be my most honored guest. You need not worry about travel expenses. Those will all be taken care of for you. Someone will pick you up from the London airport as well. I will be waiting._

_ Wishing you well,_

_ A. Kirkland_

The boy's eyes were glued to the letter, taking in every detail of the writing, reading it over and over again. Then before he knew it, he found himself booking the earliest flight that he could get to London, as if he was somehow enchanted.

…

A beautiful rose bush was in full bloom, a lovely sight to see indeed. A careful hand reached down and picked a luscious red rose from the bush, the scent of the flower filling the nostrils of the picker.

He picked the petals off of the rose one by one, allowing them to scatter into the wind. They were crimson, like tiny flames. He watched the rose petals float away, flying towards the shimmering moon. A grin crossed his lips.

"He'll be here soon," he said knowingly. "Very soon. And then we will finally be together again."

...

**To be continued...**

**Please review if you want more! Thanks! ^-^**


	3. Chapter 2

_ Azure eyes opened up. The young man let out an irritated groggy groan. Even though he now found himself in utter darkness, the room around him still felt like it was spinning. The air was musty with a hint of piss, rum, and smoke in it. The pit of his stomach cried out in protest and he felt like he was going to vomit._

_ Wherever he was, he had been there for a while. The hard wooden chair in which he sat was aching his bottom. His hands were behind the chair and bound in thick ropes. His ankles were also bound with rope, inhibiting him from escaping._

_ "Well, that worked quite well," a voice in the darkness said._

_ "Wh-what are you ta-talking about?" the boy replied, his words slurred together. He felt so sick. All he really wanted to do was heave, in order to get rid of the poison within him._

_ "You've been drugged. Don't worry. It's not life threatening," the voice explained. "The effects should wear off soon. Now then, Mr. Jones, let us cut to the chase. Where is the one who plays with magic?"_

_ "Who?"_

_ "Him," was the clarification._

_ Alfred's head ached, feeling like his brain was pulsing straight against his temples. The voice didn't seem to help matters, for he found the nasally and demanding tone of it rather irritating at the moment._

_ "I don't know who you are talking about. So-"_

_ "The wizard, you imbecile!" the voice shouted._

_ Alfred glared in the direction of the voice. His headache was developing and the yelling and horrid smells were only making it worse._

_ "Why do you want to know where he is?" the boy asked. "Why should I tell you where he is?"_

_ A pair of hands grabbed roughly on to his shoulders. Even though he couldn't see the face of his captor, he could feel their cold eyes on him._

_ "Do you know what we do to those who have tapped into the Dark Arts, manipulating things with their wicked charms and enchantments?" they asked. _

_ Alfred could tell from the smell of their breath that his captor was a pipe smoker and smoked quite recently. Alfred provided him with no answer and looked away from his captor in disgust. _

_ "We burn them!" the voice told the young man. "I know that you are a good man, Mr. Jones. I am here to save your soul from the clutches of the wizard. All you have to do is tell me where he is."_

_ "And what if I don't want to be saved?" Alfred replied, looking back at them. _

_ A harsh punch in the face was his response. The punch hit his cheek. The cheek began to swell immediately after being hit. The captor moved his fist away from the boy's face._

_ "I apologize. The wizard has too much of a hold on you and is making things difficult for us. Nonetheless, I will free you, Mr. Jones, no matter what it takes," they promised._

_ Hands gently began to caress Alfred's injured face. _

_ "Forgive me. I lost control of myself," they asked for forgiveness. "So now, please tell where he is."_

_ "No!" Alfred declared. "Here me now. I will never tell you where he is! Nor will I give into you, you sick bastard! I have always and I always will love..." _

_ His words trailed off and the harsh sounds of a sharp buzzing disturbed him._

…

Again, the young man was cruelly awoken by that bane of his existence, his alarm clock. His hand moved around his bedside table before he found the darn thing and pounded it off.

Azure eyes were forced open and the boy found himself in his bedroom, sprawled out on top of his bed. His body was sweaty and his heart was beating wildly. Alfred's heart began to calm down when he saw that he was safe in his room, with no interrogators in sight.

He sighed, wondering what that dream had been about. He had been about to say that he loved someone, but who? He tried to think of who it could possibly be, but in the end he couldn't think of anyone who would fit the bill. Like his dream of his hazy lover in the field, this dream felt so real, a little too real for his opinion.

Alfred gazed over at his alarm clock, seeing that it was a quarter past five in the morning. He groaned out in protest that he had to wake up so early. What was he thinking booking a flight to London at half past eight in the morning?

He grabbed at his glasses and put them on his face. He then picked up the nice change of clothes that he had set out for himself the night before and brought them into the bathroom. He set them aside with his glasses before he stepped into the shower in order to clean himself up. The hot water might also help him wake up from his half asleep zombie-like state.

As he shampooed his strawberry blonde hair, he couldn't help but think that he might have some complications when he did finally arrive in London. Kirkland had not provided Alfred with a way of contacting him. The envelope of the invitation itself didn't have a return address on it, making it remarkable that got in the post at all. Still, some strange feeling deep within him knew that Kirkland would know when he would come without any form of contact between them.

On that note, who was Kirkland and what kind of job did he need Alfred's help for? The boy should have been skeptical of the invitation, but somehow he felt a pull to go, a tiny force that would not let up until he finally went to London.

When he finished washing himself in the shower, Alfred stepped out of the shower and began to dry himself off. After drying, he put on his glasses and went on to shave his face, chopping off any whiskers of his. He wanted to give his best impression to this Kirkland person, whomever they were.

After changing into his clothes, he quickly brushed his hair, making sure that his Nantucket stood out prominently. Alfred took a good look at himself in the mirror when he was done. Yes. He had done nicely and the nineteen year old did in fact look quite handsome.

He made his way to the door of his apartment. His twin came out to the front of the apartment, having woken up slightly earlier than usual in order to say goodbye. Matthew smiled at Alfred.

"Have a good time," the Canadian told him. "Just be careful over there and don't just eat McDonald's."

"They have McDonald's in England?"

"McDonald's is everywhere," Matthew replied. "Call me when you get there."

"Sure. Well, bye," Alfred said, picking up the oversized red duffel bag that he had packed the previous evening.

"Bye."

With that Alfred left his home in America making his way towards a new place where someone was eagerly awaiting his arrival.

...

**To be continued...**

**Sorry that this is a short chapter. They will meet in the next chapter, promise. Please review if you want more! Thanks! ^-^**


	4. Chapter 3

The car ride to the airport went pretty smoothly, as did checking in his bags and going through security at the airport. All was going according to plan. Not a thing to worry about.

After chowing down on a quick meal of a salted pretzel and some black coffee, Alfred took notice of the time. It was nearly eight o'clock, but he still had time for a quick stop at the restroom.

Once he had finished his business, he went over to the sink and began to wash his hands, using the pink antibacterial soap that the soap dispenser had. As he cleaned his hands, he gazed at his reflection, making sure that everything was still in place. His cowlick stood up, as always, remaining prominent. He smiled to himself.

The mirror began to cloud up and a moment later, the rest of his surroundings disappeared in a thick gray mist. He remained still, not sure what was going on. A warm pair of hands gently grab him from behind, wrapping around his waist. He felt hot breath against his neck.

"Alfred..." a familiar voice whispered sweetly into his ear. "My Alfred..."

The lips moved to brush against the back of his neck. A shock like electricity coursed through him. The boy tried to turn around to face who had been embracing him. As he did so, the mist came crashing down around him and he was back in the bathroom at the airport.

"Flight 473 to London is now boarding," he heard one the flight attendants call over the intercom.

Although shaken from whatever had just happened, the boy was snapped back when he heard the announcement.

"Shit!" he cried.

Quickly, he grabbed a handful of paper towels and dried his hands off, before he exited the bathroom and ran towards his gate.

…

The man paid close attention to the mirror before him. Reflected on the surface of the glass was the image of the one whom he had sought. He watched the young man, a certain Alfred F. Jones, situate himself in one of the seats of the flying machine. The boy immediately plugged in his headphones and attempted to sleep, listening to his favorite tunes on his iPod.

The man gazed down at the image of the boy.

"Soon, very soon, my love," he spoke to the mirror. "Sleep well."

He rubbed a finger across the surface of the mirror before the image disappeared.

The man stood up. He still had much work to do in preparing for his guest.

…

The landing of the plane awoke the American from his slumber. He had only gotten a little bit of sleep on the plane due to all noise and motion of the plane. The buds of his headphones were still in his ear and the iPod had so much more music in it that it could play for him. The boy took his headphones out of his ears and wrapped them around the electronic, before stowing them away in his pants pocket.

He then unbuckled himself, before standing up and stretching. People in the rows before him began to unload the plane and soon enough it was his turn. After walking off of the plane, he started to make his way his towards the baggage claim.

After making it out of the gate, he saw a oriental man with choppy brown hair standing near the escalator that led down to the baggage claim. In the man's hands was a simple sign that read _Alfred F. Jones_ in the same handwriting as the invitation that Alfred had received. His feeling had been right. Kirkland did know that he was coming, but as to how, Alfred wasn't quite sure. But that didn't matter.

The boy walked over to the man.

"Mr. Jones, I presume," the man spoke, his voice having a hint of an accent. Alfred placed the accent as some form of Asian. He then saw a pin of the flag of the British-Chinese colony of Hong Kong on the lapel of the butler's suit, which supported his placing of the accent.

"Ah, yes," Alfred replied.

"Come. We must not keep Lord Kirkland waiting," he said. "Let us get your baggage and go."

"Sure," the boy went along with it.

He followed the man down to the baggage claim. So, he was being employed by a lord. Alfred tugged at his tie, hoping that he was dressed properly to be seeing a lord.

As he thought this, his saw his duffel bag come around the carousel. He grabbed the bag off of the moving belt and went back over to his escort.

"Is that all?" the butler asked him.

Alfred nodded.

"Very well then. This way, if we may." He gestured towards the exit.

The pair of them walked out of the airport. It was rather cold out that evening, a sign that winter was well on its way.

The butler led him to a black car. The car was a classic style and in impeccable condition. Alfred couldn't quite place the year, make, or model of the car, but even he knew that such a car had to be very expensive. Either way, the luxury vehicle was a sign of Kirkland's immense status and wealth in British society.

The Hong Kongnese man opened up the truck of the antique car. He took the duffel from Alfred and placed it in the trunk. He closed the trunk and then opened the door to the backseat for the boy. Alfred slid into the car. The butler closed his door before walking over to the front seat and getting in. After turning on the ignition, they made their way out of the bustling city towards the English country side.

Alfred gazed at the city as they drove through it. London in all its glory was lit up for the evening. Women and men clutched on to each other, beginning a wonderful night in the city.

Soon enough the spectacle of London was behind them. Now it was somewhat dark, revealing the moon and stars that were illuminated in the pitch black sky. The occasional street lamp provided some light for those on the road.

The young man sat back in his leather seat. He fiddled with his iPod before popping his headphones back in. As he listened to his music, he gazed at the scenery around him, not seeing much in the darkness.

He sighed, hoping that they would arrive at Kirkland's home soon. His stomach was craving food and he was exhausted from his plane ride.

…

"Sir? Mr. Jones?" a voice called, snapping the boy out of his light sleep during the car ride.

Despite the fact that he was plugged in, he could still here the Hong Kongnese butler.

Alfred took his headphones out of his ears again and looked up to see the butler before him, the door to the backseat open.

"We are here," the butler told him.

He moved out of the way. Alfred stepped out of the car, holding onto his iPod and headphones. His eyes widened upon seeing the vast estate.

The mansion was of a Tudor style of architecture. It was made with cream colored bricks as the main body of the home. Burgundy bricks drew attention to the edges, windows, and main doorway. The roof was a neutral medium brown that provided the mansion with a homey feel. Rose bushes brought attention to the front of the estate. A cobblestone path led one to the front door.

The boy stood there, taking it all in. The sense of familiarity that he felt was overwhelming.

_ A warm hand clutched gently on to the tiny hand of the little boy. Emerald eyes gazed down at the boy gently. The boy and his new guardian approached the mansion, hand in hand._

_ "And this Alfred, is where you will be living for now on. Alright?" a kind voice spoke._

"Mr. Jones?" the butler spoke, once more shaking Alfred back to his senses.

"Ah, yes?" the American said.

"You had best go inside. Lord Kirkland is waiting for you," he said. "I will deliver your things to you room."

"Yeah. Thank you," Alfred replied. He handed the butler his iPod. "If you wouldn't mind also putting that in my room. You can just stuff in one of the pockets of my bag."

The Hong Kongnese man nodded and took the electronic from him.

"Of course, sir," was his reply.

"Say, what is your name?" Alfred felt the need to ask.

The butler looked at him in a surprise before answering him with: "My name is of no importance. Now you had best get inside. You mustn't keep the Lord waiting."

"Okay. If you say so. Thanks very much."

The butler bowed. Alfred walked away from the butler and up the cobblestone path towards the front door.

The front door was made out of fine cherry wood, though Alfred merely saw it as some form of finely polished wood. Silver knockers in the shape of unicorns were fitted on the door. The American carefully used one of the knockers to knock on the door. A moment later the door creaked open, allowing him inside. No one was at the door, which surprised the boy.

"Hello?" he called into dark mansion.

Before he could do anything else, something pulled him into the mansion. The door slammed behind him. Alfred then found himself speeding down the main hallway of the estate, torches on the walls lighting up as he passed them by.

Soon enough he was in front of another wooden door, which opened up as he sped down the hall towards it. A chair pulled out from under a magnificent rose wood table. The force directed him at the chair and soon enough the boy found himself seated in it. The chair, out of its own accord, also pushed him in.

Alfred was unsure about what had happened, not sure what it was that had brought him into the mansion, whether it was a ghost, an alien, or some other form of strange phenomena.

The young man took a good look around the dining room. A portrait was hung in the middle of the room. He couldn't quite see who the portrait was of due to the dim light, but he was certain that it was someone special, perhaps a member of Kirkland's family or the lord himself. The rose wood table was set with plates of warm food, a freshly cooked meal. Although Alfred was not sure what some of the meal was supposed to be due to it being burnt beyond recognition, he was certain that food would taste just fine.

As he eyed the portrait, attempting to make out who it was, someone else entered the room. The man who entered was handsome, Alfred had to admit that. The man's emerald eyes gently gazed at him from beneath a crop of golden hair and bushy eyebrows. He wore a tailored forest green suit. A silky white cravat swallowed most of his pale neck. A pair of black gloves completely the outfit. The man was the image of a perfect gentleman.

"_All he needs is a top hat_," Alfred thought to himself.

The man looked at him, a kind look in his eyes. At that moment, Alfred found himself staring back at the gentleman, immediately drawn to him. The hazy figure in his dream seemed to become clear to him as he gazed at this man.

Alfred felt his heart begin to pound wildly and a tinge of a blush flushed his cheeks.

"Alfred F. Jones, at last," the gentleman spoke, his British accent like music to the boy's ears. "I have been waiting for your arrival for so long."

"Uh..." Alfred tried to form words, his thoughts completely blown out of the window as he continued to stare at the handsome man before him. It was as if he was somehow enchanted by this man.

The Brit smiled and walked to his seat. As he moved, the boy shook himself slightly from his enchantment at his new employer.

"Lord Kirkland," Alfred finally found some words to speak with.

Kirkland settled himself in his chair at the head of the table that was next to Alfred's seat.

"Please call me Arthur," he said. "I am looking forward to working with you. But let us not speak of work now. You must be hungry and tired from your travel. Let's eat some dinner and then I shall show you to your room. Tomorrow we will discuss your job. Does that sound good?"

The boy nodded.

They dug into their dinner, eating to their fill. Once the boy was stuffed, Arthur picked up a small candelabra and began to led Alfred through the maze of the mansion. Along the walls of the hallways, Alfred spotted more portraits whose faces were distorted by the dim light.

"This really is a big place," Alfred remarked.

"Yes," Arthur agreed. "It is a home that has many memories in it, both cherishable and burdensome. I suppose that it gives the house character and charm."

He stopped in front of the door to the room in which he would have Alfred live in during the course of his stay.

"Here we are. I hope that you enjoy," he said, opening the door for the boy.

Alfred walked inside. The bed was made with ocean blue comforters and pristine white pillows. A small wooden bookcase contained all manner of books. A cherry wood wardrobe served as storage for clothes. A vase of crimson roses was set on a small table beside a wash bin and water pitcher. A window in the room overlooked the prim gardens of the estate.

Deep within him, Alfred had strange feeling that he had been in this room before, yet he knew that that could not be possible for he had never been to this mansion, or England for that matter, until now.

"Sleep well," Arthur told him. "If you need anything my room is down the hall."

Alfred turned around to face his host. Arthur handed him the candelabra so that he could see around his room.

"Good evening then," the Brit excused himself.

"Good evening," the boy repeated.

Arthur closed the door on his way out. As he walked down the hallway to his own quarters, he couldn't help but smile brightly.

"Welcome back, love."

...

**To be continued...**


End file.
